


The Many Faces of Gregorio del Pilar

by bukkunmoonsin (bukkunkun)



Series: The X-Men AU No One Asked For [10]
Category: Heneral Luna (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Smut, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Public Nudity, Shapeshifting, Sorry guys, War, and wrong timing probably idfk, lots and lots of headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:25:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bukkunkun/pseuds/bukkunmoonsin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time he met Rusca was when he was seven. He was hiding in the gardens at the back of his town’s church, breathing heavily and his skin, rippling blue and cream and blue again, and his eyes were a wild yellow that fought to stay brown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Many Faces of Gregorio del Pilar

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post here](http://bukkun-moonsin.tumblr.com/post/133265571413/the-many-faces-of-gregorio-del-pilar). 
> 
> For Goyong's birthday. Belated happy birthday, you fuqboi.

The first time he met Rusca was when he was seven. He was hiding in the gardens at the back of his town’s church, breathing heavily and his skin, rippling blue and cream and blue again, and his eyes were a wild yellow that fought to stay brown.

It was so hard, back then. To learn to control his power. He had lost control out in the public, once, in the sight of the Civil Guard, and it had forced him to run for his life. He had ducked into the bushes just as they turned the corner, and panting heavily, he stayed carefully still within the foliage.

There had been a gust of wind, throwing leaves into Gregorio’s face, and forcing him to splutter, and that had been it—he was caught by the Civil Guard, and there were guns pointed at him, at the tiny little blue-and-cream boy standing still, shaking, on the holy grounds of a church.

Was this the way he was going to die? He thought. What a terrible, terrible way to die.

Then there was another blur—of creamy off-white, and suddenly Gregorio felt like he was flying. The next thing he knew, he was in the arms of someone—another boy, around his age, and he realised he was being rescued. He let the boy carry him to safety, ducking into the shadows of the convent he ran circles around to lose the Civil Guards, and practically throwing Gregorio at the wall before stumbling, trying to stop himself. Gregorio panicked, and moved to catch the boy, and the both of them ended up in a heap on the floor.

“Are you okay?” he asked, as he panted, breathless for some reason he didn’t know, and the boy pulled himself up to look down at Gregorio.

“Yeah, I think?” he blinked. “Are you okay?”

“Better than usual,” Gregorio replied. “Thank you. For saving me.”

The boy flashed him a toothy grin, and his heart skipped a beat.

“No problem. _Mama_ always said to help others out in need—especially if they’re _Mapalad_.” He said, shrugging, and moved back to let Gregorio sit up next to him. “But you know, you look really cool. Can we be friends?”

Gregorio blinked at him, “But my _Papa_ never lets me out of the house.” He said, “I just… wanted to, just this once, go to the _fiesta_ , but…”

The boy gave him a toothy grin. “Then I’ll have your back!” he gave him a thumbs-up. “We’re friends now, aren’t we? If you ever lose control, I’ll run you out of there!”

Gregorio blinked at the boy, and he faltered a little. “Uh… unless you don’t want to be friends?”

“Oh, I do!” Gregorio nodded hurriedly, and grabbed the boy’s hand. “My name is Gregorio del Pilar. What’s yours?”

The boy smiled again, sunny and sweet, and his heart stopped beating.

“Eduardo Rusca. But just call me Rusca—Eduardo doesn’t sound as cool.”

It was a name he was never going to forget.

* * *

They had a rather happy childhood together, but soon circumstance pulled them apart.

They met again, during the Revolution, when Rusca had served as the Revolution’s courier, and Gregorio was a Captain in the army. General Aguinaldo had sent him a letter, approving his plan the following week of charging the convent in Paombong. It was a rather surprising reunion, Rusca skidding to a halt shakily into Gregorio’s camp with his boots burning the earth beneath his feet as he forced himself to slow down. Dust flew into the air, and Gregorio only barely caught sight of Rusca’s face before their world was plunged in a cloud of dust, and with a fond smile, he morphed into the face of the woman he was planning to impersonate on the day of the raid.

“Hello,” he greeted Rusca when the dust settled, and he giggled at the sight of the young man so disoriented. “What brings you here, _Ginoo_?”

Rusca gave him a single glance, and Gregorio knew he wouldn’t recognise him. He wasn’t wearing a face Rusca was familiar with, not the face Rusca knew of him, but the young man suddenly smiled widely, and pulled him into a hug.

The soldiers around them broke out into hushed murmurs, but Rusca held on fast.

“Hi, Goyong.” He murmured warmly, “You’re… still as pretty as I remember you being.”

That made Gregorio laugh, and he morphed back to his usual self to hug Rusca back.

“It’s so good to see you again, Rusca,” he warmly said, and when they pulled away from each other, his touch lingered on Rusca’s arm. “I see you’re doing well.”

“I see _you_ are.” Rusca winked at him, and held out Aguinaldo’s letter to him. “Captain Del Pilar.”

At that Gregorio couldn’t help the bashful smile on his face, and gestured for Rusca to follow after him. They headed into his hut, where Gregorio poured himself and Rusca a mug each of water, and sat down to read the letter Rusca had for him. The speedster sat down heavily on his bed—much to Gregorio’s laughter—and lounged in it, lazy as ever, like they were still those two little boys that met in clandestine meetings in lazy afternoons, when Gregorio pretended to be in _siesta_ to avoid having Rusca caught, or in the late evenings, when the del Pilar family thought Gregorio was asleep, and not halfway across the town, riding Rusca’s back, laughing brightly into the wind.

His eyes widened at Aguinaldo’s letter. His plan had been approved.

“So, how’s it going for you?” Rusca spoke up after a long moment of silence, after watching Gregorio dumbly staring at the letter. “Captain Del Pilar, huh. You’ve been through a lot.” He grinned, and sat up. “I see you’re using the look I told you about.”

Gregorio laughed at that, and shook his head. He shrugged off his shirt to leave a simpler white one underneath, and hooked his hat on a hook near the door. He walked over leisurely to join Rusca on sitting on his bed, and leant against his childhood friend.

“Of course I would.” He murmured, “It’s one of the things I have to remember you by.”

“Sap.” Rusca laughed warmly, and sighed as their brief exchange of words was replaced by comfortable silence, both of them enjoying each other’s company again after so long.

The face Rusca told him about—Gregorio still remembers the moment like it was yesterday.

They were thirteen, growing into awkward body sizes, Rusca’s legs too long and gangly, and Gregorio’s shoulders broadening too fast for the rest of his body. They were awkward teenagers then, blossoming into puberty, but not quite. It was the night of the _Flores de Mayo_ fiesta and the two of them were sitting together on the ledge of the roof of a relatively small house, easily accessible thanks to the mango tree next to it. Beneath their waving feet, they watched the procession go along the street, and Rusca sighed.

“So do you think we’ll grow up looking like that?” he asked, and pointed to one of the handsome young men in the procession, dressed smartly in an off-white _barong_ and carrying his partner’s flowers. Gregorio looked down at the young man over his knees, and sighed.

“Maybe? Who knows. Maybe you will, Rusca.”

Rusca looked at him, pouting. “ _Mama_ says I have her cheeks. I’m scared I’ll end up looking a lot like a girl.”

“Oh, like Sinang?” Gregorio teased him, and he concentrated _hard_ to morph into her face. “ _Ooh, Eduardo, you could be my widdle sister!_ ” he didn’t bother morphing into her voice, opting instead to turn his voice tinny and nasal, and it had him burst into giggles.

“Oh, cut it out!” Rusca laughed brightly, and the two shared delighted laughter. In his joy, Gregorio’s concentration slipped, and his skin morphed back to blue. Rusca was the first to notice, and with a small huff and a smile, he pulled up Gregorio’s hood to hide his face. His laughter died on his lips, but Rusca thumbed the corners of his mouth back up to a smile. “Come on, Goyong. It happens to everyone. The slips—they’ll get less often, I promise.”

The smile on Gregorio’s face was tentative, but he always believed Rusca’s words.

“What about you, Rusca? What do you think I’ll look like in the future?”

“Hm,” Rusca hummed, deep in thought, and after a moment, his smile widened. “I know. You’d be so handsome. More handsome than that guy!” he gestured at the young man, now metres away from them down in the streets. “You’d have a nice jawline—oh, and stubble! And the clearest, cleanest skin!” he pressed his hands on Gregorio’s cheeks, and the shapeshifter hoped Rusca couldn’t feel how warm they were. “Your eyes would be a warm, warm brown, and you’d have a sharp nose bridge! The ladies would be lining up for you!”

Gregorio laughed, “Do you honestly think I can keep up that form? When I’m older?”

“Of course!” Rusca smiled brightly. “I’ve got the utmost faith in you!”

And, by God, he did.

Now, he and Rusca were adults, and things both went the way they didn’t and did want to. He looked the way Rusca said he would, and Rusca, well.

The speedster grinned at him, and Gregorio felt his heart melt.

He was still as sweet as ever.

“Don’t ever change, Rusca.” He said, and his childhood friend elbowed him softly.

“You know me.” he winked, and gestured at the letter with his lips. “So, I’m still pretty free as of late. Want me to help you with your operation?”

Gregorio hesitated, he didn’t want Rusca caught in the crossfire, but his _Mapalad_ ability was too good to pass up in an opportunity like this. Rusca kept smiling at him, and he finally relented.

“Okay, fine.” He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “But you’d better listen carefully, and you’d better wake up on time. I won’t be dragging your butt out of bed like when we were children.”

“I’ll be on my best behaviour, I swear, Goyong.” Rusca laughed, and it felt so good to hear it again.

* * *

The plan was simple enough—Gregorio and eleven of his men were to disguise themselves as women, and would attend the Sunday Mass prior to the attack. The raid would begin at the signal of a gunshot, and they would sneak in weapons in their skirts or in _nipa_ trunks.

Rusca helpfully added that they should be accompanied by at least one or two men, and Gregorio looked at him carefully, before his lips curled into a smirk. He morphed into a lovely young woman, with pretty brown eyes and hair in fragrant cascades of black, lips pink like her cheeks, and took his arm.

“Well then, Eduardo,” he purred, in a pretty Soprano of a voice, and some of the men in the hut flushed at the sound of his voice. “Won’t you accompany me while we have our baby baptized?”

He didn’t really know how Rusca would react to that, but he _certainly_ wasn’t expecting him to wrap an arm around his waist, and press a kiss to his hair.

“Of course,” he paused to think of a name, and half-snickered, “ _Sinang_.”

At that, Gregorio lost all pretence of seduction to snort out in laughter. He morphed back to his usual self, and pushed Rusca away to snicker into his fist.

“Captain Del Pilar?” one of his men asked, and he shook his head, glancing at Rusca, who was now also laughing.

“An inside joke.” He simply said, “Alright. Then, it’s settled. The attack is tomorrow, men. Let’s get ready.”

His men gave him a salute, and they filed out of his hut. Gregorio turned back to look at Rusca, who was lying back in his bed again, munching on a stick of _suman_. “Rusca. Can you come with me for this evening? I have to go somewhere to make sure our plan is without fail.”

Rusca raised an eyebrow at him, but stood up. “Ah,” Gregorio stopped him from moving any further, and grinned slowly. “And, um, take your uniform off. Slip into something more… comfortable.” At that Rusca looked mildly scandalised, and Gregorio winked at him. “We’re going to be convincing the good old pastor of Paombong’s convent.”

“Convincing him of what, may I ask?” Rusca was shrugging off his shirt, and it took most of Gregorio’s concentration not to stare.

“Of our… marital integrity.”

“The Captain means he’s going to have public sex with you,” Gregorio’s _ayuda-de-campo_ offered from the window, and Gregorio threw out the mug of water through it. The man laughed good-naturedly, and Gregorio cursed at the fact he had missed.

Rusca laughed, and nodded.

“Yeah, sure, why not.” He shrugged, “I think that sounds fun.”

Gregorio gaped at him, eyes wide.

“All we have to do, after all,” Rusca’s voice dropped to a low tone, and he crowded Gregorio up against the wall, “Is…”

“Is what?” and Gregorio couldn’t believe how out-of-breath he sounded.

“Well, pretend to fuck against a tree outside the guy’s window, right?” he asked, all of a sudden no longer seductive, “You can moan out my name real loud so he’ll really believe it.”

Gregorio glowered at him, and he blinked.

“What?” he asked.

All he got was a smack in the arm in reply.

* * *

It was half-an-hour to midnight, and the convent’s lights were out, save for the one in the pastor’s study. Gregorio and Rusca looked at each other, expression set, and Gregorio slowly nodded, before gesturing at the river running right next to the window. Rusca nodded, and let Gregorio go first, watching him morph into that pretty young woman he held that early evening, and slowly he shucked off the  _baro’t saya_ he was wearing.

Rusca looked into the window, as Gregorio, in a woman’s body, stepped into the river to take a bath. He saw the pastor’s silhouette at the window, and soon enough—ah. It was open. What a peeping tom.

He forced himself not to snicker, as he watched Gregorio very obviously wash himself—er, herself?—down in the river, his naked body, lovely and shining with water in the moonlight, quite the sight to behold for anyone who could see.

Rusca thought he did a good job, but it didn’t quite light the fire in his loins. He wondered why.

Soon it was time for him to move in. With a hidden beckon from Gregorio at the riverside, he moved out from the bushes, opening his shirt and pretending to push down his pants, as in front of him Gregorio faked a gasp.

He grasped Gregorio’s wrists—too small, too _strange_ for it to be considered _his_ —and pushed him back, back against a tree, where only their silhouettes can be seen, hidden away from the moonlight, and making it _very_ easy to pretend to be having sex.

“You sound fucking ridiculous,” Rusca hissed, amused, at Gregorio, and he looked back at him with a smirk on the young woman’s lips.

“Wait, Eduardo,” he moaned out in that woman’s voice, “We can’t—not here—”

“Shh,” Rusca raised his voice, and lowered his head to Gregorio’s neck at the sound of a heady moan. “We’ll have Mass tomorrow. My sin will be washed then.”

“Ahh, but— _oh_ , I’m—”

“Jesus, you’re really into this,” Rusca muttered, and Gregorio’s chest stuttered in an attempt to hold back a snicker.

“I’m— _nnh, ahh_ —”

“You’re what, Sinang?” he asked, voice raised again, and Gregorio kicked him in the shin, shaking with laughter.

“I’m—mar—married, _oh, Eduardo_!”

Rusca melted into quiet laughter against Gregorio’s bare shoulder, and he could feel Gregorio’s shaking snickers against him. They kept at it for a while, until Gregorio smacked his arm to tell him to get off.

“Sinang, tomorrow, I’ll go with you to Mass,” Rusca said, “That child is mine anyway, and you know it.”

“Hush, Eduardo!” Gregorio managed between a crooked smile, holding back his laughter. “Someone could hear!”

And someone definitely did.

* * *

“Father, we are here today to have my child baptized.”

Gregorio looked so well-put together this morning, with the red in his cheeks and the pink on his lips, and the way his hair was tied up really neatly. He must have had so much experience with women, Rusca thought, as the pastor looked at them both, and then back at Gregorio.

“If I may, _binibini_ , who is the father of that child?”

“Ah, my master, Senyor… Montefuego.” Rusca supplied, when Gregorio glanced at him for help. “I have come in his place today, because he is too busy.”

“And… you are?”

“Eduardo Dimasuay. I am a ranch boy on Senyor Montefuego’s estate.”

Gregorio elbowed him in the side secretly, and he could see him shaking with laughter.

The priest raised an eyebrow at the both of them, and the other disguised men behind them. “And they are?”

“Oh, my maids,” Gregorio told him, “My husband never lets me go around without all of them, and they’d so very much like to see our little baby…” he paused, looked at the rifle in the cloth he was holding, and chuckled, “… Gregorio, baptized on such a beautiful day. By _you_ , of course, Father.”

The priest looked pleased by that, and finally nodded.

“Please do come in, then. The Mass will begin shortly.”

And so they did.

Rusca fired the signalling shot not long after that, and in thirty minutes, Paombong was under the command of Captain Gregorio del Pilar.

He quickly wrote a message for Aguinaldo, and hesitated, when Rusca reached out for him for the letter. Rusca cocked his head at him, and took the letter himself.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

He didn’t want Rusca to leave just yet.

He didn’t want Rusca to leave, at all.

“… Nothing.” He said instead, “Have… have a safe trip.”

Rusca grinned at him sunnily, and gave him a salute. “Will do. You did a splendid job, Captain! I’m sure General Aguinaldo will promote you for this!”

Gregorio forced a laugh through his lips.

“Yes… I’m sure… he will.”

Rusca’s smile softened, and he slung his arm around Gregorio’s shoulders. “Have a little faith in yourself, Goyong. You’re absolutely brilliant.” He gave the man a thumbs-up. “You’ll turn out great. One of the greatest generals in Philippine history!”

At that, Gregorio chuckled softly. “I’m still a captain, Rusca.”

“Oh, but someday!” he nodded, completely sure of himself. “The country will remember you for what you’ll do—for years, and years to come!”

“You think of me too highly, you dolt,” his voice held no poison, and Rusca knew that. His grin widened, and he patted Gregorio’s arm. “I’ll see you again, soon?”

“You know it.” Rusca winked at him, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

* * *

 

The Revolution came and went, and Gregorio went along with it. He had been to Hong Kong, and back, and by then, he really didn’t think he’d see Rusca again—

Until the Philippine-American war popped, and Rusca was, once again, in the middle of it all.

“Oh, my God. It’s so nice to see you again,” Rusca smiled brightly, as in the distance, his new head, General Luna, was talking in hushed tones to another _ayuda-de-campo_ , Col. Roman. He pulled Gregorio into a warm hug, and was grinning mischievously. “I told you. I _told_ you.”

Gregorio laughed softly. “I know.”

“General. You’re a _General_.” Rusca breathed. “I _knew_ you could make it.”

“Thanks.” Gregorio grinned, and gestured at Luna. “I see you’ve moved up the ranks as well.”

“Captain,” Rusca grinned, “But I’ll catch up someday. Just watch.” He winked at Gregorio, and strutted away from him.

Gregorio shook his head, chuckling fondly, and watched him leave to talk to Luna and Roman again, and wondered to himself, would this, again, be the last time he would see Rusca again?

* * *

“The eagle has taken the crow, Presidente Aguinaldo wanted you to know.”

Apparently not.

* * *

So, Gregorio held on to the hope he would see Rusca again, throughout the war. It was that single thought—the thought that Rusca would still smile at him again, would still hug him warmly again—that kept him going through the mess he got in. No matter what he went through, whether or not Mabini rifled through his thoughts, or Aguinaldo ordered him to do another dirty job, he would do it—out of loyalty to his President, and out of love for his dearest… Rusca.

It wasn’t until he learned of Luna’s assassination did he stop completely to realise how futile this war he was fighting was. The news arrived to him the evening of Luna’s death, when the blood was still clear on the earth of the convent, and Luna’s funeral still fresh on people’s minds.

Mabini’s expression of silent horror really did him in. It was that single, harrowing expression on the telepath’s face that told him everything, of the treachery, of the lies, of the backstabbing that happened that fateful day—and it made his stomach turn.

He couldn’t bring himself to visit Rusca in his cell for _days_. Guilt kept him in his place. He had been away from the convent when it had happened. He had escorted Aguinaldo out of Cabanatuan without a question of why, just a silent nod, and an equally silent resignation to Mabini’s mind poking into his to seek answers, now that he couldn’t look into Aguinaldo’s head, what with that helmet in the way.

Eventually, Aguinaldo was forced to retreat to the North, and Gregorio was forced to protect him.

The mission, he knew, was a suicide one, and while it was… a pleasure, to die for the country, there was another reason worth dying for.

It was love, he thinks, as he stole the key to Rusca’s cell from the guard. Love, is what was driving him to do this.

It was love that had him dismiss all the guards in Rusca’s vicinity, while he hid the key in the sleeve of his uniform.

It was love, he _knows_ , that he saw in Rusca’s eyes when they spoke.

It was love, he understands, that he let go, the moment he said goodbye.

It is love, he realises. Love was what he felt, what he endured, in the time he spent with Rusca, without him—it was all the same. Love. _Pag-ibig_.

Lying on the ground on the gentle slopes of Tirad Pass, a bullet in his neck, in the last few moments of his life, he realised—

He never told Rusca that he loved him.

Regret, he realised, was always the last thing anyone ever felt.


End file.
